


As It Was

by anotherbird



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Amnesia, Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, Facial Shaving, Hair Braiding, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Book Spoilers, Non-Sexual Intimacy, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24592879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherbird/pseuds/anotherbird
Summary: That the last time they had seen each other was in Vergen, when his memories had still been a blurry mess of flashbacks and dreams.But he remembersnow, when he gets Dandelion back to the Rosemary and Thyme after rescuing him from the Temple Guard. He remembersthem.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 131





	As It Was

**Author's Note:**

> Biggest thanks as always to my beta [Scrambled Still](https://twitter.com/ScrambledStill) (who also makes AMAZING art you should really check out), who came up with the wonderful idea why Dandelion likes to braid Geralt's hair. 
> 
> There are two short rather critical mentions of Triss, just as a heads up.

Dandelion appears  _ fine _ at first glance, when Geralt kills the last of the witch hunters. He is supposedly  _ fine _ for having been a prisoner of the temple guard. His ridiculous clothes are dirty and worn-out, he is in desperate need of a shave and a decent meal and a bath. He has always had a certain resilience.They don't talk much on their way to the  _ Rosemary and Thyme _ , which is as unusual as it gets. He's sitting behind Geralt on Roach, stoically holding onto him and there are moments when Geralt is scared he's going to fall off.

Priscilla has already hurried to reach the former brothel before them and has arranged for a bath to be prepared in the suite on the upper level of the establishment. Geralt thanks her with a brief nod as he follows Dandelion up the stairs.The bard eyes him almost with a certain suspicion when Geralt enters the room behind him and closes the door. Like he’s trying to figure him out.

Geralt helps him to get out of his clothes without asking and keeps an eye out for any obvious injuries that might require attention. At least at first glance there don't seem to be any. Fortune favours fools and Dandelion has always been as good at talking himself into trouble as at talking himself out of it. Dandelion lets out a deep sigh as he lowers himself into the warm water. Without a second thought, Geralt starts to strip his blood spattered armor, checks it for damage and only halts when Dandelion speaks up.

"I see someone's got their memory back." It's not an accusation, his voice weary, but amused. Maybe relieved even.

Geralt hasn't thought about that. That the last time they had seen each other was in Vergen, when his memories had still been a blurry mess of flashbacks and dreams.

"Sorry, I didn't..." For a moment Geralt is just standing there like an idiot, vaguely gesturing towards the door, only in his pants and undershirt. "I can go."

Dandelion snorts. 

"Don't you dare. I have waited two years for this." Dandelion glides deeper into the water, deep enough to get his head under the surface, then reaches for a bar of soap.

Geralt feels a little awkward now, even though he knows he shouldn't. They have done this more than he can count in the two decades that they’ve known each other. He shakes his head, tries to shake off the vague feeling of being an unwelcome intruder and looks around the room, until he finds what he’s looking for.

"There was no need to wait." Geralt washes his hands in a basin and finds Dandelion's shaving utensils next to it, including the ofieri razor with the ivory handle he has been using for ten years now. He gathers all he needs and carries a chair over to the tub. He sets it on the floor behind Dandelion’s back and sits down on it. Leaning back he observes a well-known routine. The usage of the perfumed soap from Toussaint, massaging in the elvish scented oils (that make Geralt’s eyes water), rinsing everything out with cold water afterwards. 

That is all something Geralt does not interfere with. His hair and his voice are probably the two things Dandelion cares most about. And after weeks of imprisonment they both deserve a lot of care Geralt assumes.

"Not everyone likes to take advantage of people with memory loss." Dandelion fills a bucket with tub water and washes off another round of soap, eyes squeezed shut. "And I was very clearly told that my interference was not welcome."

For a moment Geralt is lost for words. There’s uneasy feeling lingering in the back of his mind. He tries to shake if off and concentrate on what’s here and now. 

Dandelion disentangles his hair with a comb and slicks it back back, drops of fleeing water running down his neck. He leans back against the wall of the tub, as Geralt places his hands on his shoulders, doesn’t flinch at the touch. Geralt takes a moment to run his thumbs over a bunch of freckles. Geralt remembers them. 

It feels good to be able to remember. 

"Ready?"

The bard nods and rests his arms on the rim of the tub. Geralt gently holds the bard’s chin and makes him lean his head back, until he has a proper view of his throat. Dandelion’s Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows. Their eyes meet for a moment, a heartbeat or two. Despite the tiredness, the soft wrinkles around them, there’s still the same spark in his eyes, Geralt remembers. Geralt smiles, more to himself than at Dandelion. 

Geralt foams the shaving soap up and starts to spread it on the skin of the bard’s throat, jaw and cheeks. Dandelion's face is fully relaxed, his eyes closed.

"Are you okay?"

"Are you seriously asking me this with a knife at my throat?"

Geralt huffs out a small laugh. The scent of the soap in Dandelion's hair tickles his nose.

The razor is as clean and sharp as he remembers it. Carefully, Geralt steadies Dandelion's head and draws the blade up his neck to his jaw, leaving rosy smooth skin, cleaning the blade after every stroke in a bucket that’s sitting next to the tub.

The bard seems calm. He has his eyes closed and doesn’t flinch a single time. Not even when Geralt carefully drags the blade over his Adam's apple. Geralt takes his sweet time, makes sure that he doesn’t shave off too much, leaves the goatee and the mustache, which would need a trim later. Afterwards he drenches a piece of cloth in a bucket of clean cold water and gently removes the soap still left on the skin. For a moment neither of them moves. Dandelion's delicate hands rest against the edge of the tub, Geralt's large hands on his shoulders, a steady weight.

"Maybe you could become a barber after all." Dandelion’s lips curl into an amused smirk and Geralt rolls his eyes. 

“Definitely not.” 

"So are you getting in anytime soon?" Dandelion's voice is a little groggy as he stirs, almost as if close to falling asleep. "I'm sure no one cared for your hair in the last two years."

Geralt almost wants to say that it isn’t necessary. That Dandelion should get out and get his rest, but when he turns around to look at Geralt, brows drawn up impatiently he nods and gets up to get the rest of his clothes off. 

The water is warm and smells like elderflowers and for a moment Geralt is surprised it's not rosemary and thyme considering how much Dandelion would appreciate the irony. The tub is to small for both of them - not that they have ever cared about that, he remembers. Dandelion’s bent legs are framing Geralt’s body. 

"So you're keeping this?" Dandelion’s hands appear on both sides of his face, running through the coarse hair of his beard on his cheeks. Geralt snorts, but lets him have his way.

"I think so. For now. What do you think?" Geralt isn’t even sure why he has decided to keep it after all that has happened in Loc Muinne. Triss hasn’t been keen of even a stubble as it was unseemly at the king’s court. 

“Can’t decide if it makes you look rakish or like a retired sellsword.” Behind him Dandelion snickers. “But I like it.” He leaves his facial hair be and moments later Geralt can feel fingers on his head.

It's a well known ritual. They have done it so many times that Geralt hast lost count. Dandelion carefully loosens the hair band that keeps a part of the Geralt’s hair together at the back of his head and makes a slightly disgusted noise as he tosses it away. He has Geralt emptying a bucket over his head and starts to comb through the wet entangled strands with his fingers. Geralt closes his eyes and his thoughts slow down, when gentle fingers start massaging his scalp, rubbing the soap into his hair. He loses track of time as Dandelion is working, only satisfied when he can comb through the wet clean strands effortlessly. Geralt smiles to himself as skilled fingers start to part the upper part of his hair only to carefully braid them.

"What's your fascination with braiding anyway?" Geralt holds completely still, while Dandelion is working, carefully weaving a couple of braids, starting from his temple, meeting at the back of his head, where he intertwines the different strands. It's practical. Keeps the hair out of Geralt’s eyes. He has seen the style Dandelion always used and probably uses now on sellswords from Mahakam, so he expects a long story about a long love affair with a dwarf.

"Do you remember Essi Daven?"

"Of course." Geralt remembers the young bard and her moving ballads, just as her smell of verbena and her broken heart. He hasn’t heard her name in years.

"Remember she had very curly hair?" Dandelion doesn’t wait for Geralt to answer, who is confused about the usage of past tense. "It always got in her eyes, often enough that people called her Little Eye, because you could only see one of her eyes most of the time.” A small melancholic laugh. Geralt regrets that he can’t just turn around right now, to have a look at his face. “She only ever wore her hair down when she was performing. I used to braid her hair when we were travelling together. She had a dwarven girlfriend once who showed me how. She used to write and practice her ballads and I would listen to her and braid her hair."

Geralt heard the hesitation in Dandelion’s voice. Every words feels too heavy. 

"What became of her?"

Geralt feels like he knows the answer already, knows it from how Dandelion’s hands have stopped moving, but are holding onto his shoulders.

"She died from the smallpox, a few years after we were in Bremervoord.”

Geralt struggles, trips over his words, knows that there are no right, just wrong ones. 

“I’m sorry.” He finally manages to say, but the words are like bile in the back of his throat.

“I know.” Dandelion lets go of his shoulders and slowly continues his work like the act itself is comforting him.

Dandelion keeps quiet, a loaded heavy silence weighing them down and when he's ready, he just wraps his arms around Geralt's waist. A little too strong for a simple hug.

Like he's holding onto him.

Holding him in place.

Geralt feels Dandelion’s forehead against his neck and his warm breath ghosting against the scarred skin between his shoulder blades.

They just stay like this for a while.

Like nothing exists outside of this room. 

Two grown men in a bathtub that's too small for both of them and still just right for them.

"I'm glad you’re back." It's barely a whisper, lips brushing against his skin, something more felt than heard.

It's not about being  _ back _ in Novigrad. Geralt puts his hand on top of Dandelion’s, which are resting entwined on his abdomen.

"Me too."

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the wonderful song "As it was" by Hozier. 
> 
> If you want to talk, find me on Twitter [@ItsAnotherBird](https://twitter.com/ItsAnotherBird)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this and I'd be very happy to read your thoughts!


End file.
